


Honey, It's a Trip I Made For You

by Sandalaris



Series: the white rabbit's pocketwatch [5]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Crazy Belle (Once Upon a Time), F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-01
Updated: 2017-05-01
Packaged: 2018-10-26 03:26:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10778568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sandalaris/pseuds/Sandalaris
Summary: It's a routine, only not.AU where Belle escapes the hospital days before Emma showed up.





	Honey, It's a Trip I Made For You

Breakfast time. She's eating milled oats with honey and he's preparing to leave. Like the day before, but that's only two. Three times is needed to make a pattern. There's magic in it, say the name three times and the beast will appear. 

He gave her a room, the dealmaker. In the house with the pretty windows. Shows it too her the night he came back too soon and left her there to sleep until the sun was well in the sky. 

Given her names too. Calls her dearest and sweetheart and bell, names of precious things that make sweet noises, and she answers because they are so much better than Miss. 

"Are you about ready?" He folds away his newspaper, glancing at her nearly empty bowl. 

"Mm-hmm," she replies, licking the spoon clean of it's sticky residue. 

She has clothes now too. More immodest dresses with too high necklines. All backwards. But there are others that leave a lady prim and pretty. Shirts made of golden yellow that whisper to her, and white lacy things that left her angry and confused. Magical. _What will it cost her?_

There's a soft pair of trousers on her legs, and a shirt made of rose red flowing over her upper body. It's new, and different, and she get's a little thrill every time she looks down sees herself in men's wear. Only not, because she's not a maiden in a far away land, her father not a rich merchant. Modern day clothes for a modern day woman. Mustn't forget again. 

She's gathered her hair over one shoulder, holding it in place with a piece of ribbon she pulled from a decorative pillow on the untouched bed. It feels good, getting dressed, doing her hair. Normal. Except in the way it's not. 

She stands, taking her bowl and his crumb filled plate to the sink, pausing for only a moment before turning on the faucet to rinse them off. It all feels so new, even when her mind tells her it's ancient and familiar. She's done this before, dealt with sinks and dishes and no need to haul buckets. False impressions from a false time that she must disregard. 

She's getting better. 

The dealmaker stands, using his cane for leverage- she dislikes the thing, doesn't know why he hides behind it –and she joins him at his side, lets him put his hand on her low back and guide to her to the door. Silly man. Silly her. She needs it, doesn't she. 

\- 

He doesn't comment on the neatly folded blankets in the chair, but his face gets tight as he looks at the still made bed. Too knowing eyes seeing all. 

"Too soft," she answers the question trapped in his throat. Too exposed, she doesn't say. He nods and she sets to work, pulling out the clothes he's given her and arranging them on the bed. She hasn't found a pattern that makes sense to her yet. 

"Who goes to market?" She asks suddenly, a wave of confusion as the thought catches her unawares. Snagging and tangling all up. 

"I do," he replies. There's something in his voice, an underlining meaning, but she hasn't the time to suss it out. Thoughts swirling and twirling down the magic hat and taking it all away. _She liked it when he'd visit._

Not real. Just a book. Broken mind and silly stories. 

"Are the villag-" Can't finish, opens her mouth to try, but the question is gone. Eaten. Sharp teeth in a soft grin, but it's all fantasy anyway so why should it matter. Dreams of blood and pain and a world with harsh rules and a harsher queen. 

She's angry. Hot and tight in her chest and neck. 

"No," she insists. "You can't." Her teeth clench and her hands tremble as they knot into fabric. 

She flings them onto the floor, pretty clothes scattering as she whirls around. 

"The mar-no! Not it!" Fear and pills and she's not being good! "No no no no, not it not it." Her gaze catches on the mirror above the vanity, sees mad eyes and red cheeks. No purple smoke. It's there though, she's certain. Can feel it choking her, pushing down her throat and through her ears. A tube and pills and the constant steps of the nurse. 

_Where is he?_

He'd never leave the glass uncovered. Not her master, oh no. Mustn't look through the glass. You'll fall in. 

"I-" 

She sees him in the reflection behind her, Mr. Gold. Eyes concerned and frightened and all wrong. Wrong size, wrong color. Wrong man. 

Not him, not him, nothimnothimnothim.... 

"Not who, dearest?" 

She snaps around, whirling on him and the room. Bares her teeth at the imposter. 

"You're not him." 

"Alright," he says quickly, taking a step forward with his hand outstretched. "I'm not him. Maybe we can find him." 

Her hair whips around her head as she shakes it rapidly. Wrong. Can't find what's not real. 

"I- I need-" she says, gaze darting around the room. "I-" 

"What, sweetheart?" 

"Stop it! You don't know." Where's the nurse? "You can't. It's- I'm-" She needs her pills. Has to get better. 

"Because I'm not him?" 

There are hot lines down her face. Salt on her lips. Her voice breaks as her throat tightens. _"He didn't come."_ Purple smoke in her lungs, taking and giving and breaking. Attempting to remake. _Make better._

There's books on a shelf. Given to her. Left untouched. A gift, from the dealmaker. Regiven. _Not a speck of dust._

_False!_

Mustn't believe. Mustn't listen. Voices muttering falsehoods and she can't block them out. Inside her, screaming all at once. 

_For your own good._

She's in a chair. Doesn't know how. Doesn't remember when she sat, but there are warm hands on her back, rubbing soothing circles. Round and round and round. Figments of a diseased mind try and dance before her. But she's strong. Knows better now. Pushes them away. She's going to get better. 

"I'm sorry." Takes her three tries to get the words out, past the tears in her throat and the whirlpool in her mind. Attempts to pull her under. 

The words break on a sob, fall before her in unrecognizable pieces. 

"It's alright, sweetheart." The dealmaker's voice is a low murmur, soft and soothing and something in her _mourns_ at the sound. She shoves it away, pushing in down into a tight ball. Clings to the pieces she understands. Here and now. 

She opens her eyes slowly, blinking in the muted light of the room. Her room. The one the man beside her gave to her. Mr. Gold, real and tangible and far more helpful than she deserves. Done nothing to earn it, won't let her pay her debts. 

"I think," she begins slowly, "that maybe I should see someone." There's a shifting, a feeling of rightness and dread. Tangled and mixed. She doesn't want to go back. _Has to._

There's a long pause, and she worries she said the wrong words. It happens so often. She doesn't know what she's saying anymore. Missing pieces, an improper formula. 

"You want to see a doctor?" The words are neutral. Dull and painful where they stab deep within. 

She shakes her head, feels her hair against her skin and breaths deep. Centers her thoughts. Here. Now. 

"I," she begins carefully, "get confused. Lost. It doesn't- doesn't make sense. And I want to get better. Maybe," the words _hurt_ coming out, cutting deep, "I need my meds." 

There's a long pause from the dealmaker. The hand is warm on her back, stopped it's spinning. But there. 

"I'll speak to someone," he says finally.

**Author's Note:**

> The curse is playing havoc on Belle's poor mind, trying to get her back into her role.  
> There isn't really a plot to this, despite the ending seeming to try and bring one about. I will not fall for it! My muse will not win. No plot! Just snippets.


End file.
